The Samurai’s Wife

33

It was the last night of Obon. The time had come for the visiting souls of the dead to leave the world of the living. Throughout Miyako, people threw stones on roofs to drive the spirits away. As the pale pink sunset sky deepened to magenta, crowds converged upon the Kamo River. They launched small straw boats, each containing incense, a lantern to light the spirits’ way to the netherworld, food for the journey, and written prayers. The water became a sparkling stream of lights. Huge bonfires in the shape of auspicious characters burned on the hillsides, guiding the spirits back to the cemeteries.

Marching southeast from Nijō Castle, the Tokugawa army, two thousand strong, made slow progress through streets flocked with citizens. “Make way!” shouted the banner bearers at the head of the procession. “Take cover. Go home!”

Gunners, archers, and mounted troops pushed through the heedless crowds. Sano, clad in full armor, rode at the end with the commanders. He said to Marume and Fukida, “The rebels probably chose tonight to attack because they thought the entire militia would be busy participating in the Obon rites.”

“If not for the emperor’s decision to announce his plans, they might have succeeded in capturing Miyako,” said Marume.

“They might still cause mass destruction,” Fukida said, “if we don’t get to Kiyomizu Temple in time.”

The army crossed the Gojo Bridge. Below, tiny bright boats floated downstream. For Sano, the scene had the atmosphere of a nightmare. The long Tokugawa peace had lulled the samurai class into complacency; never had he imagined riding off to civil war, except in fantasy. But fantasy had become reality. Beneath his metal breastplate, Sano’s heart thudded like the urgent cadence of a war drum. He smelled the sharp odor of nerves and anticipation rising from his comrades. Would he fulfill the ultimate samurai destiny of dying in battle for his lord? Sano offered a silent prayer that he and Reiko would be safely reunited. She was in Nijō Manor, protected by her guards, and she’d promised that if the war reached the city, she wouldn’t join the fight. Sano hoped she would keep that promise.

Someone rode up beside him. “Are you ready, Sōsakan Sano?”

It was Chamberlain Yanagisawa, mounted on a black steed. He wore a magnificent suit of red-lacquered armor and a golden-horned helmet. Since learning the rebels’ plans, he’d applied his impressive organizing skills to the task of defending the regime. He’d marshaled the best fighters and gotten them under way in an impossibly short time, while leaving forces behind to guard the city. Sano had been amazed to discover that inside the corrupt chamberlain beat the heart of a samurai.

Now, as they rode through the eastern suburbs toward Kiyomizu Temple, Sano bowed to Yanagisawa, who looked the perfect general, ready to inspire his troops to victory. Never had Sano envisioned fighting under the command of the man who’d so often tried to destroy him. Yet the ancient mystique of great warriors like Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyoshi surrounded Yanagisawa like a magic spell. The warrior in Sano cleaved to it. He willingly placed his life in his enemy’s service.

“You understand your orders?” Yanagisawa said. The gaze he swept over Sano, Marume, and Fukida was clear of animosity, focused on larger concerns than personal strife.

“Yes, Honorable Chamberlain. We three will find the emperor and capture him alive,” Sano said.

“Good. I’m counting on you.”

As Yanagisawa moved on to confer with his other commanders, Sano felt strangely uplifted by the encounter. Surely all the men present would fight their best for Yanagisawa tonight.

The approach to Kiyomizu Temple led the army up a steep incline, along a narrow lane of shops where craftsmen had produced pottery for generations. High above loomed the temple gate, its square arch and flaring roof stark against a landscape of forested cliffs. The sky was the color of a fresh wound.

A murmur rippled through the ranks of the army: “Listen!”

From beyond the gate came the thunder of hoofbeats. Torches borne through the temple precinct by the approaching rebel army cast an eerie glow. Sano felt battle lust consuming him and his allies like invisible flames.

Chamberlain Yanagisawa called, “Ambush them at the top of the hill!”

The army surged forward, reaching the crest just as several thousand rebels stampeded through the gate and down broad stone stairs leading to a plaza. Some were samurai in elaborate armor, but many wore ragged peasant clothes. Gangsters sported leather tunics over bare, tattooed skin. White hoods cowled the shaved heads of priests in saffron robes. Banner bearers waved flags imprinted with the imperial crest. Foot soldiers carried bows, guns, and spears; mounted troops brandished swords and lances. Their torches illuminated shocked faces: They hadn’t expected such prompt opposition. Now they froze in ranks.

“You’re trapped!” Yanagisawa shouted from his position behind his troops. "Surrender!”

Instead, a defiant yell came from the rebel general, a mounted samurai clad in full armor: “Stand and fight!”

Simultaneously the archers and gunners of both armies dropped to their knees, aiming bows and arquebuses. A storm of arrows whirred across the plaza. Volleys of gunfire rocked the night. Amid gunpowder fumes and smoke, men fell dead and injured. Conch trumpets and war drums signaled troop movements. Then a maelstrom of swinging blades and rearing horses engulfed the plaza as the troops fought. Pressing forward through the melee, Sano felt arrows clatter against his armor. A rebel samurai galloped at him, waving a sword. Sano cut his opponent across the neck. The rebel’s horse galloped away, dragging a corpse. The glory of destruction horrified Sano, and thrilled him to the core of his samurai spirit.

“Come on!” he shouted to Marume and Fukida. “Let’s find the emperor!”

They fended off attackers while their mounts trampled fallen bodies. Torches lay scattered on the ground. In their light, Sano scrutinized the rebel soldiers. He didn’t see the emperor among them. He guessed that the rebels wouldn’t allow Tomohito to join the battle. Tomohito represented their claim to power, and they needed to keep him safe.

“He must be in the temple,” Sano said.

As he and his men urged their mounts up the stairs beyond the plaza, gunfire exploded behind them. Shots ricocheted off Sano’s armor, jolting him. Marume’s lance speared a swordsman who blocked their way, but another rebel dragged him off his mount. While they fought, a bullet struck Fukida’s horse. It screamed and tumbled down the stairs. Fukida jumped out of the saddle, but his arm caught in the reins. Sano leapt from his own mount and jerked Fukida loose. They fought the enemy past twin statues of roaring lion-dogs and up the second flight of steps, leaving dead men in their wake. Marume joined them. They raced through the gate.

The temple precinct, built on terraces hewn from a steep hill, was enveloped in a darkness relieved only by flames in stone lanterns along the paths. The sounds of gunfire and clashing blades faded as Sano and his men sped up more steps, through an inner gate, past a pagoda. Pausing to catch his breath, Sano saw several low buildings to his left. All were apparently deserted. Moving cautiously, he led his men past a tinkling fountain, through another gate. Beyond stretched a covered passageway, and ahead, the main hall.

With its vast, humped roof, it looked like a giant outgrowth of the hill. Huge, square pillars supported lower peaked roofs above exterior corridors. The windows were dark, but Sano pointed to a glow emanating from the south side. He and Marume and Fukida advanced stealthily through the passageway and into the hall’s west corridor, toward the light. It came from brass lanterns attached to the ceiling of a wide veranda that jutted over the Kin-un-kyō Gorge. Far below, in the distance, the lights along the river and in Miyako twinkled. Hearing voices from the veranda, Sano halted.

“I want to fight in the battle. Why do I have to stay here?” It was Emperor Tomohito, sounding petulant.

“Because you’ll get killed if you go down there,” said a man’s stern voice. “We’re protecting you.”

Then came the sound of a scuffle, and Tomohito’s outraged cry: “Let me go! I’m the emperor. You have to obey me!”

“If you want to live to rule Japan, you’ll obey us,” said a different voice.

Sano peered around the corner. The lanterns lit the veranda like a stage. Two samurai in leather armor tunics stood with their backs to Sano. Through the gap between them he saw Tomohito, dressed in his old-fashioned imperial armor, a long sword at his waist.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been outside the palace,” Tomohito pouted, “but I haven’t seen anything except this stupid temple. You wouldn’t even let me look out the window of the palanquin on the way here.” His voice quavered tearfully. “And now I’m missing the battle that I’ve dreamed about for so long!”

While the emperor raged and tried to push past the soldiers, they entreated him to be quiet. Sano could tell from their worried voices that they knew the coup attempt had gone wrong. Sano whispered to his detectives. Then he circled the hall. He stepped onto the veranda behind Tomohito.

“Surrender quietly, or you will be killed immediately,” he said.

The emperor spun around, his babyish face startled beneath the ornate helmet. “You?” he exclaimed.

The two rebel samurai froze. When they drew their blades and started toward Sano, Marume and Fukida rushed them from behind. Then the four men were battling in a tornado of darting figures and flashing blades.

Backing away from Sano, the emperor blustered, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home, Your Majesty,” Sano said.

“I won’t go.” Tomohito puffed out his chest and stood his ground. “Not until I’ve conquered the Tokugawa.”

Sano pitied the boy’s delusion, fostered by his isolated existence and the people who had spoiled him all his life. “I’m sorry, but that is not your destiny,” Sano said. “The shogun’s force is slaughtering your troops as we speak. Listen: You can hear the sound of defeat.”

Diminishing gunfire resounded across the hills; the ring of fewer steel blades echoed. Marume and Fukida had driven the emperor’s guardians off the veranda, down to the path beside the hall. Yet Emperor Tomohito shook his head in angry denial.

“We can’t lose,” he said. “I have the divine sanction of the gods. My victory is certain.”

“It’s time for you to face reality,” Sano said. “The few rebels who get to the city will find more troops waiting for them, thanks to the advance notice that you couldn’t resist giving. That was poor military strategy, but a good thing for you. The revolt will be crushed with minimum damage, and you can save yourself from punishment by surrendering.”

“Surrender?” Tomohito laughed scornfully. “On my grave!”

Grabbing the gold-inlaid hilt of his sword, he unsheathed the weapon. Sano gazed in awe at the steel blade, etched with archaic designs and characters, that shone with an almost unearthly glow. This was the sacred imperial sword, passed down through generations of emperors, and taken from the palace treasure-house by this foolhardy youth. Now Tomohito sliced looping swirls in the air. He took a prancing step toward Sano.

“I’m off to war,” he said. His eyes, filled with nervous jubilation, reflected the blade’s gleam; he grinned at Sano. “And you shall be the first enemy I slay.”

“Don’t do this,” Sano entreated the emperor. “You can’t beat me.”

Tomohito laughed. “I could have killed you yesterday. Now I will.”

He swung the sword. Sano leapt backward, and the blade whistled past his chin. The emperor howled, lashing out furiously while Sano dodged. When Tomohito sliced at his legs, Sano jumped over the blade. Cuts battered his armor tunic.

“Your Majesty, the revolt wasn’t your idea,” Sano said. He darted behind a pillar, and Tomohito’s sword stuck in the wood. “Right Minister Ichijo incited it, didn’t he?”

Yanking the blade free of the pillar, Tomohito lunged after Sano. “Ichijo has nothing to do with this. I want to conquer the Tokugawa. And you can’t stop me!”

“You couldn’t have recruited an army or procured weapons by yourself,” Sano countered, dodging more cuts. “Ichijo must have done it.”

“Stop talking nonsense!”

The emperor’s blade slashed at Sano’s head, driving him toward the wall of the building. Sano knew that if he fought back, he risked hurting the emperor, but refusing to stand up to Tomohito would only confirm the boy’s belief that he was good enough to take on the Tokugawa army and send him to his death in the battle. Drawing his sword, Sano parried cuts.

“When Ichijo found out that Left Minister Konoe was a metsuke spy who’d discovered the plot, Ichijo killed him,” Sano said. His blade clanged against Tomohito’s, forcing the emperor across the veranda toward the railing. But Tomohito only laughed; his attacks grew wilder. “If you’ll implicate Ichijo, I’ll persuade the shogun to pardon you.”

“I don’t care if Ichijo did kill Left Minister Konoe. I don’t need him anymore. I don’t need a pardon from the shogun, either. When I rule Japan, he’ll be my servant!”

Sano’s arm ached from blocking strikes; his head reverberated with the ring of steel. He was the far better swordsman, but a person who wants to win has an advantage over one who doesn’t want to fight. Tomohito whacked Sano’s left upper arm. The blade cut through the chain mail and padding of his sleeve. To his alarm, Sano felt searing pain, then the warm wetness of blood.

“Ha!” Tomohito exclaimed. “I got you! Prepare to die!”

Eyes bright with glee, the emperor raised his sword in both hands. He rushed Sano, bellowing. In desperation, Sano feinted a jab at Tomohito’s groin. The emperor sprang backward and lowered his weapon. Sano brought his blade around, slashing at Tomohito’s hands. With a cry of pain, the emperor let go of the sword. It clattered across the veranda. Tomohito stood paralyzed, gazing with horror at his outspread right hand.

A narrow cut traced a red line across the knuckles. He looked at Sano, his face aghast.

“I’m bleeding.” His voice was a ragged croak. Probably he’d never been injured before, never seen his own blood. He must have thought himself invincible.

“I’m sorry,” Sano said, horrified at wounding the sacred sovereign. Perhaps, though, the experience would teach Emperor Tomohito a lesson. “But this is minor compared to what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”

“The gods shall strike you down for this,” Tomohito whimpered. Dropping to his knees, he cradled his bloody hand.

“The penalty for treason is death by decapitation.” Sano kept his sword pointed at Tomohito, underscoring the threat. “Even your divine status won’t save you-unless you agree to denounce Right Minister Ichijo.”

Marume and Fukida hurried onto the veranda. “The guards are dead,” Marume said.

“Go back to the battlefield,” Sano said. “I’ll handle things here.”

The detectives left. Sano stood beside Tomohito. “The right minister manipulated you into believing that the plot was your idea and he was just carrying out your orders. He’s a murderer who doesn’t deserve your protection. Give up, Your Majesty. Save yourself and let Ichijo suffer.”

Tomohito shook his head in dazed misery. “No,” he whispered. His complexion was a sickly white; he seemed on the verge of fainting. “He didn’t. I can’t…”

“Look around.” Sano swept his sword in a high arc that encompassed the mountains above Kiyomizu Temple, the lighted city below. “Japan is bigger than you can comprehend. The Tokugawa army is hundreds of thousands strong. Any rebels who escape slaughter tonight may straggle across the country, attracting a few followers, stirring up trouble, but they’ll be defeated in the end. Ichijo’s ambitions far exceed his grasp.”

As the emperor gazed at the view, he seemed to see it for the first time. A shudder passed through his body. The shadows of dying dreams darkened his eyes. Sano sheathed his sword, overcome with sorrow for the boy. Tomohito wept.

“I wanted to rule Japan,” he mourned. “I wanted to be someone besides a useless god locked away from the world. Now I’m afraid to die.” The knowledge of his own mortality filled his voice with terror; tears streamed down his face as he looked up at Sano. “Right Minister Ichijo didn’t mount the revolt, but if you want me to say he did, I will, if you’ll spare my life.”

His insistence upon the right minister’s innocence disturbed Sano. Finally he had the testimony needed to convict Ichijo, but what if Ichijo really wasn’t the instigator of the revolt? Did that mean he hadn’t killed Left Minister Konoe or Aisu either?

Reluctantly, Sano entertained the possibility that the revolt and the murders were not connected, or else were connected in a way he’d never guessed. He began arranging facts into a new theory. Emperor Tomohito was the heart of the Imperial Court as well as the center of the revolt. The interests of everyone at the palace were linked to his. Therefore, someone other than the traitor could have killed to protect Tomohito from the punishment he would suffer if Konoe reported the conspiracy, then later tried to kill Sano and halt his investigation for the same reason. If the traitor and the killer weren’t the same person…

A flash of enlightenment seared Sano’s mind. The suspect he’d dismissed as incapable of mounting an insurrection fit this new logic as well as did the more likely culprits. Prince Momozono was the emperor’s confidant, and must also be privy to the secrets of many other people who didn’t bother hiding their business from an idiot. He could have known about the plot, and that Left Minister Konoe was a metsuke spy. Sano tallied other reasons that pointed to Momozono’s guilt. Stricken by the certainty that this new theory was right, he marveled at the unexpected turn the case had taken.

Then, from the east side of the hall, Sano heard hooting sounds, followed by slow, stumbling footsteps. He recalled Ichijo saying that Prince Momozono must have run away with Emperor Tomohito.

“Help me, Momo-chan!” the emperor cried.

The killer was coming.